


A Sticky Situation

by chaucerwayland (ceruleanmyth)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanmyth/pseuds/chaucerwayland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes up with a clever nickname for Sherlock, but people take it the wrong way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sticky Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](http://misssebbysharp.tumblr.com/post/73701190504/navydream-a-fic-where-john-calls-sherlock) by [navydream](http://navydream.tumblr.com).

_"Sherlock!"_ The front door slammed downstairs. The detective sighed slightly, eyeing the mess of foam packaging and arrayed glass tubes. He had expected a good fifteen more minutes from John’s shopping trip. Must’ve been a traffic jam. The only reason John would have returned so soon is if he had gone to the little petrol station by Starbucks instead of Tesco. He preferred Tesco, despite his moaning about the chip-and-pin machines.

"What is all this?" John demanded, probably trying to get over the half-assembled wooden base he had left at the foot of the stairs.

"It’s mine." Sherlock replied, pulling his safety glasses off. All that was left were minor adjustments, he decided, it could do without.

John clumped up the stairs, as Sherlock admired his handiwork. He heard John pause at the top, taking in the catastrophe, and took that as a cue to unplug the soldering gun. With a quick glance, Sherlock was satisfied, and turned around to flash John a smile, who looked like he was still deciding whether to be angry or confused. He was settling for both.

Sherlock held out the soldering gun when John reached for it, careful not to grab it by the end that was still hot.

"I’ll be having that, thank you."

"No, thank _you_." Sherlock said, tossing his safety goggles into the heap of Styrofoam that used to be his chair.

"Sorry?"

"This," Sherlock gestured to the mysterious glass tubing and made a nod downstairs where the framework waited, "It’s all very generous of you."

"What do you mean?"

"Why John," Sherlock smirked, "It’s my birthday. And I am thanking you for the generous present you have gotten me."

Realization dawned on John’s face. “How generous?”

Sherlock grabbed a handful of Styrofoam and carried it past John out into the stairwell. “Well. It is quite an important birthday.”

"Is it?"

"Yes. I’m thirty-two or something."

"Thirty-two."

"Yes." Sherlock tossed the pieces of foam into the hallway by the front door and started back upstairs for another armful.

John shook his head. “Please tell me we’ll be able to pay rent.”

"Oh for God’s sake, I didn’t buy a Lamborghini."

"What _did_ you buy… exactly?”

"This," Sherlock placed his hands of his hips and looked down proudly at the array of glass tunnels, "Is my bee emporium."

"Your what?"

"You heard me perfectly fine." Sherlock grabbed a few more chunks of foam and threw them out onto the landing.

"No, I heard you say ‘bee emporium’. That is not fine."

"Problem?"

"You’re going to keep bees in the flat."

"I am going to keep bees in an enclosed structure, in my room, in the flat, yes."

John held up the soldering gun for a lack of better things to say. “You do know this is for fixing jewelry?”

"I needed to adjust the outer tubing."

John glanced around, setting his jaw. After a moment he shook his head, defeated. “Happy birthday, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grinned appreciatively. “Thank you, John.”

"But if I find a single bee outside of that infernal contraption-"

"Say no more. I will take the utmost care in moving them." Sherlock promised, a look of very un-Sherlockly delight on his face. "I may need your help installing the frame later. And I'll clear out all the packaging."

John studied him as he strode about, in a better mood now that John had officially agreed. “Why bees?”

"I like bees."

"But why?"

"Do I have to have a reason?"

"You usually do."

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to pause and think. “They’re fascinating creatures. Able to pass intricate instructions along using a simple system of movement. Every bee always has a purpose and a job; everything they do is for the good of the hive, unlike 90% of the human population, who do things solely for selfish gain. I’ve studied them before, but never long enough to see their full life cycle play out. Did you know that when played a certain series of chords on violin, bees will-“

"Alright!" John laughed, "You like bees. That’s good. You have a thing."

"I guess I do."

"Not what I would have expected, but-"

"And what would you have expected?"

"I don’t know… Definitely not bees."

"Well I didn’t expect ‘Hamish’." Sherlock retorted.

"Touché."

  


~~

  


"Sherlock should’ve been here ten minutes ago." Lestrade frowned at his watch. The forensics people were getting antsy, under strict orders not to disturb the evidence. The bodies were still unmoved, both sitting inside the house, waiting for Sherlock to give them a story. But it looked like he wasn’t coming.

"I told you he wouldn’t show. We look ridiculous standing here waiting for him." Anderson spat.

"You always say that, and he usually does. When has he ever been late to a double homicide?"

"It was bound to happen sometime." Donovan cut in. "He’s probably at home, planning a murder. Too smart to just solve them anymore."

"Oh, shut up." Lestrade ordered as a cab pulled up aways down the street. "See? There he is now."

The familiar shapes of Dr. Watson and a black-clad Sherlock Holmes stepped from the cab, Watson paying the driver while Sherlock stood on the sidewalk and waited for him. Sherlock noticed the three of them staring and gave a little wave. Lestrade returned it hesitantly.

The pair ducked under the tape together, with the sync of two men who knew each other by heart. They were both flushed and a bit sweaty, despite the bitter January cold.

The detective inspector couldn’t help but notice the change in Sherlock’s demeanor. “You’re looking… well.”

"Thank you." Sherlock flashed him a smile, "Sorry I’m late. John and I were working in the bedroom, couldn’t be interrupted. It’s a very delicate process really-"

"Did you know it’s his birthday?" John asked.

Lestrade shook his head a little. Donovan and Anderson were looking at Sherlock like he had turned into a gigantic trench-coat-wearing pachyderm.

"I didn’t either."

"But you made up for it with that lovely present."

"Oh, did you like it, _honey_?”

Sherlock looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Obviously, _Hamish_.”

"Don’t expect anything like that for future birthdays though."

"Oh, my-" Donovan covered her mouth.

Sherlock cocked his head to peer at her. “Something the matter, Sally?"

She said nothing and Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly. “Shall we take a look then?”

Sherlock was still watching Anderson and Donovan’s horrified faces, trying to figure out what he’d missed.

"Lead on." said John with oblivious cheeriness.

  


~~

  


"I knew it," Anderson hissed, watching Sherlock and John bend over the bodies. Every now and again John would say something that would make his partner glare at him, and he would look very pleased with himself. "I knew there was something going on between those two from the very beginning. Look at them."

"But- Sherlock!" Donovan shook her head fervently, trying to clear out the disgusting images in her mind. "Can you even imagine?"

"No. And I really really don’t want to."

"I actually believed John was sane for awhile. Living with that freak probably drove him mad, the poor man."

Sherlock stood up and took off his latex gloves with a flourish. “He can’t possibly be done already.” Anderson protested. “It always takes him at least two minutes to come up with one of his ridiculous stories.”

"Maybe his mind works better after he’s-"

"Don’t even say it!"

"The murderer was the same woman from the falcon-trainer case." Sherlock announced as he waltzed up, attracting the attention of Lestrade, who gave the anxious forensics people the go-ahead. Anderson reluctantly joined them.

"She’s been locked up for months." Donovan smiled condescendingly. "I’m afraid that’s not possible."

Sherlock turned to her with a look that said he’d expected her to respond as such. “Do you have to be in the same room as someone to kill them?”

"No… but-"

"I think," he said, turning to Lestrade, "You’ll find the answer when you analyze the bag of "cocaine" in the man’s bedside drawer. Laced with poison. She was a drug dealer, as we’ve established in the previous case, and he owed her money. Lots of money. She knew she was going to get caught sooner or later so she devised a system of poisoned orders to be sent to the clients who were in her debt. Man recieves the shipment, shares a bit with his girlfriend, and viola! Postponed homicide. Wasn’t a difficult leap." Sherlock said, pulling his black gloves out of his coat pocket and sliding them on. Lestrade’s forehead was creased in concentration.

"Dinner, John?"

"Wait!" Lestrade cried, "How did-?"

"I would love some, honey."

"Oh for God’s sake, it wasn’t that clever."

John cackled as they walked out to the street, leaving the befuddled detective inspector behind.

"Sherlock!" he called after them in exasperation.

"I’ll email you!" Sherlock shouted back.

Lestrade shook his head in wonder. “Oh yeah, no hurry. You go frolic with your new boyfriend. Have pasta. The two dead bodies sitting on the floor inside can wait.” he grumbled to himself.

  


~~

  


"Sherlock!" Angelo bellowed, spreading his arms wide in welcome, "So good to see you!"

Sherlock nodded. “Evening, Angelo. Table for two, please.”

"Solved another one, eh?"

"Hardly solved." Sherlock complained, "It was too easy."

"Took him thirty seconds." John said, a bit proud.

"Longer than that."

Angelo laughed, patting Sherlock on the back, who forced a smile. “He’s too modest sometimes, this one. What do you think, boys, the usual?

"Sounds good." John said, folding his menu and looking to Sherlock.

"I’m hungry tonight, how’s the spaghetti?"

"I’ll make it special, just for you." Angelo winked. "Would you like two plates, or will you be sharing?"

John frowned. “Umm… two plates would be nice.”

"Personally, I think it’s more romantic to eat together, you know. More intimate."

"Sorry?" John asked.

"Congratulations, by the way!" Angelo beamed. "Someone told me just a few minutes before you came in. I knew you two…" He got a far-off look in his eyes. "Perfect. I’m never wrong about these things."

Sherlock leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “Who told you?”

"I didn’t know his name. I heard him mention you and John and I couldn’t help myself. You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know. It’s perfectly-"

John threw his hands in the air. "I can only say it so many times: we’re not a couple! I don’t even know how people come up with that."

Suddenly Sherlock closed his eyes, letting himself sink back against the seat. “John,” he said quietly, “You’re an idiot.”

"I don’t need this right now, Sherlock." he growled.

"Remember earlier when you thought you were so clever?"

John glared at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Think." Sherlock ordered. Then he waved it away and stood. "On second thought, think in the cab. We have to move quickly."

"Leaving so soon?" Angelo still stood above them, a concerned look on his face.

"Where are we going?" John demanded.

Sherlock whirled about, pulling on his long coat. “To hunt down a rumor, _honey_.”

John paled as it hit him. “Oh God…”

"In the future, John, don’t try to be clever."


End file.
